Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Belize and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Television Personalities to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by David McCallum. All the underground hits.
All The Count Five tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Yusef Lateef record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Slave,
Underground Resistance,
June of 44,
Eurythmics,
The Modern Lovers,
Rites of Spring,
Darondo,
The Birthday Party,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
EPMD,
Bauhaus,
Bob Dylan,
Reuben Wilson,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Ituana,
U.S. Maple,
Jacques Brel,
Agent Orange,
Susan Cadogan,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Massinfluence,
Ten City,
The United States of America,
Hasil Adkins,
Barry Ungar,
The Tremeloes,
Gil Scott Heron,
Glenn Branca,
Gabor Szabo,
The Names,
Yellowson,
Eddi Front,
Scientists,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Amazonics,
Lightning Bolt,
Magazine,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Roxy Music,
Mark Hollis,
The Sound,
Erasure,
Lindisfarne,
Ken Boothe,
Fatback Band,
Symarip,
Bang On A Can,
The Toasters,
Gang Starr,
The Leaves,
Pylon,
The Seeds,
Hardrive,
Alphaville,
Al Stewart,
In Retrospect,
Livin' Joy,
The Divine Comedy,
Clear Light,
John Coltrane,
Urselle,
Ronnie Foster,
Johnny Osbourne,
Rekid, Rekid, Rekid, Rekid.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.